The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Singer #5)

The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Singer #5) Page 43

He stood in the middle of the room, looking at me, his posture uncomfortable and uncertain.

“Hi.” I put the phone in its cradle and stood up to give him a hug.

He set the duffel on the floor and returned my hug with a fierce one of his own. “When you didn’t call I was afraid—,” he said, stumbling over the words. “You were already pissed about the body bind, and after what Angelina did…” I stopped his stammering with a kiss.

I looked him straight in the eyes, willing him to believe me. “The Angelina thing is not your fault. You didn’t lead her on and I don’t blame you.” I tried to lighten his mood with a bit of a joke. “As to the binding, well, I’ll just have to take my revenge for that later.”

He winced but didn’t argue. Actually, while I’d never have admitted it, there’d been so much going on I’d completely forgotten the whole body binding incident until Dawna had reminded me. That probably meant I’d already forgiven him. Still, she was probably right. It wouldn’t hurt to let him try to make it up to me, and it might keep him from doing something stupid like that again. I gestured toward the couch. We sat, his arm wrapped around me. I turned toward him, resting my head on his shoulder, and felt the tenseness of his muscles start to ease.

He kissed the top of my head, then started talking, his words soft and filled with sadness. “I’d hoped that Angie had gotten your hair somewhere other than from my mom, but the more I thought about it, the less likely that seemed. So I called home and spoke to my mom, had her check the siren charm I’d given her. Angelina had tampered with it and several hairs were missing. Mama turned the evidence over to the feds, but I doubt they’re going to use it.” The bitterness in his voice was cutting.

“Why?”

He closed his eyes for a second. Then, taking a deep breath he steeled himself, opened his eyes, and told me the bad news. “Angelina is going into witness protection. She plans to testify against my brother Mike and cousin Joey.”

Oh, hell and damnation. This so sucked. Yeah, Joey and Mike are bad guys. I get that. They were probably long overdue for a stretch in the slammer. But Angelina was getting off? Without so much as a slap on the wrist? That sucked. My office was downtown. What if the bomb had gone off during a weekday—how many innocent people would she have killed?

Joey and Mike were mobsters. They were also Bruno’s family. I held him close, trying to ease the hurt I knew he was feeling, but was too proud to show.

We stayed like that until the announcement came over the intercom. “This is your captain speaking. Please stow all personal items and fasten your seatbelts. We are preparing for takeoff.”

It was a long flight. I didn’t mind. Bruno and I rarely got a chance to sit and talk in private, without any life-threatening crises or other interruptions. It was wonderful. I even took a nap, curled up next to Bruno, who entertained himself by reading.

He kissed me awake when the plane finally landed. We disembarked at 10:38 P.M., later than originally scheduled, having been forced to reroute to avoid bad weather over the Atlantic. The motorcade was waiting and the road to the palace was lined with cheering spectators waving flags or holding candles or pictures of the happy couple. It was almost as if the common people were trying to make up for the actions of the terrorists by giving Adriana an even warmer welcome than they would have otherwise. Assuming Dahlmar hadn’t arranged the whole thing for the reporters. I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s a cagey one and he’s ruled long enough to know the power the press has over the minds and hearts of the people.

When we arrived, the palace was brilliantly lit and buzzing with activity. It looked just like a storybook prince’s castle. There were elaborate architectural details, servants in elegant livery. Everything had been made absolutely perfect in honor of the ceremonies. For a long moment I just stood staring in wide-eyed wonder. I mean, yes, I do get to see some pretty fancy places guarding the rich and famous. But this … this was just … wow. It was the kind of memory you store away for a lifetime.

Creede was standing at the top of the castle’s front steps. When he saw me with Bruno, I thought I saw a flash of anger cross his face, but it was gone so quickly that I might have imagined it, replaced by a façade of bland professionalism.

I had to admit he looked good, as he had the night of the dinner on Serenity. As always, I was drawn to his honey-colored eyes, though I noticed that his warm, light-brown hair was getting a little long, almost breaking into unmanageable and, in Creede’s opinion, unmanly curls. The golden highlights in his hair seemed more prominent than usual and I realized he’d gotten a little tan during his time on the sirens’ island. He was wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal gray suit, paired with a starched white shirt and striped tie.

“Bruno. Celia.” He didn’t smile and his tone was frigid. Still, what had I expected? We’d broken up badly and I was standing in front of him with the man who’d been his chief rival. But it hurt just the same. I couldn’t just turn off my feelings for him, much as I might want to. I forced myself to put a good face on it and gave him a pleasant greeting, as did Bruno.

“Princess.” Baker appeared at my elbow, saving us all from further awkwardness. I had no idea how she’d gotten here. I hadn’t seen her on the plane. But here she was, and her timing was impeccable. She was calling me by title because everyone was watching. I could sense it. “If you’re ready, I can escort you and your guest to your rooms.”

“Our luggage?”

“Has been taken to your suite.”

I nodded and took Bruno’s arm while Creede watched with narrowed eyes. “Cool. Lead the way.”

She led us through rooms and hallways that were, not surprisingly, palatial: polished marble floors, towering pillars leading up to intricately patterned and gilded ceilings. Original oil paintings by the great masters hung on the walls, recessed alcoves held sculptures by Michelangelo, Rodin, and others whose work I was too unschooled to recognize. The artworks were displayed beautifully and looked completely unprotected. But looks were quite deceiving. I could feel the spells guarding the individual pieces from yards away, burning so hot against my senses that they stole the breath from my lungs.

“Celia, are you okay?” Baker stopped in her tracks, her eyes a bit wide.

“Fine,” I gasped. “Let’s just get away from the art gallery, okay?”

“Right.” She moved forward again, picking up the pace. The pain didn’t abate until the hallway finally opened up into an expansive chamber where a huge, curving staircase climbed three stories. The room was lit by three crystal chandeliers, each bigger than my car. Light sparkled from dangling crystal teardrops the size of my head, shooting rainbows over polished marble floors, walls covered in pale blue-green watered silk, and the thick Oriental rug that covered the center portion of the staircase.

I stopped in my tracks and stared like I’d just fallen off a turnip truck. “Oh, wow.”

Baker grinned. “I know. Wait till you see your suite. You’re a decorated hero now. The king wanted to make sure you were ‘comfortable’ and to make sure everyone knows how grateful he is for everything you’ve done for him and for the kingdom.”

Oh, my.

We climbed the stairs to the third floor, where Baker led us to my suite. Some suite—if the three floors of my dearly departed office building had been laid out on a single level, they still would have been smaller than this place. The rooms were everything out of my wildest childhood Cinderella fantasies, including, in one bathroom, a walk-in tub that would pass for a swimming pool in some neighborhoods and had all sorts of whirlpool jets. It was so incredibly inviting that I turned to Bruno immediately and said, “Out. Now.”

“Excuse me?”

“There’s a bubble bath calling my name. Scoot.”

“I could join you. The tub’s big enough.” He grinned, dark eyes sparkling, flashing the dimples I’ve always found so irresistible. But there was a shadow of unease beneath the seemingly confident expression. I could sense it. I didn’t like that unease. I’d had enough of it in my own life.

I made sure he knew I was teasing as I pretended to hesitate. “Well … I suppose I could use someone to scrub my back.”

He laughed, and for the first time all day, the haunted look left his face.

Later, clean and sated, we slid between the sheets of my almost criminally comfortable bed, and slept.

We woke to furious pounding on the door and Griffiths bellowing, “Princess Celia, you and the mage DeLuca are needed in Princess Adriana’s suite at once!”

“Hang on a sec!” I shouted back as I climbed out of bed and scrambled around looking for something to wear. As Bruno slid into yesterday’s jeans, I frantically opened drawers and doors until I found my underwear, jeans, blouses, and jackets.

We were dressed and out the door in a flash, following Griffiths at run down the short hall between my suite and the royal compartments.

The corridor was crowded with people, most of whom I recognized as Secret Service from one country or another. Thorsen towered above the rest, his long hair loose, expression thunderous. Even dressed only in drawstring pajama bottoms, he was imposing as hell. As we neared Adriana’s rooms, I noticed that everyone left just a bit of distance between themselves and Igor, who was standing near the door. It was probably completely unconscious, but telling. It reminded me of how everyone acted around Bruno’s Uncle Sal.

“Princess, Mage DeLuca.” At Igor’s gesture everyone stepped aside, allowing us to enter the royal chambers. Igor led us through a beautiful living area crowded with people. Queen Lopaka, dressed in an elegant peignoir, sat on a couch, her arms around her daughter, who was shaking and looking like she was about to vomit. King Dahlmar paced, his expression thunderous. His brother was at his side, quietly speaking in rapid Ruslandic, presumably in an effort to calm him down.

Igor murmured something to the man guarding the bedroom door, who stepped aside and gave me my first glimpse of what lay on the bed.